One of the major lessons I learned while househunting a few years ago was that I do not like to go into strangers’ homes. Even when they’re cleaned up for showing, there’s something bizarre and slightly creepy about walking into a lived-in house while the owners are away, then wandering through their things, judging everything. Of course, some people’s ideas of the definition of “cleaned up” might have something to do with this. Also, there was this odd phase in Alaskan home-building (1968-1992) where everyone wanted saunas in their homes. Then they decided to stop sweating in the privacy of their own homes and either started storing things in there (guns, food, shoes) or carpeted them and pretended they were normal rooms (they aren’t).

There is one kind of space that I like to peek at, though, and that’s the places in which writers work. My fellow Carina Press author David Bridger posted a photo of himself in his work space, and a bunch of us are following suit. Following is a picture of me working inside my carpeted sauna.

Just kidding. Claustrophobic here. That would never work.

Here’s my work space. (Sorry for the photo quality) I didn’t really clean it up but believe me when I say that every single thing on that desk has a purpose, down to the oxidized metal elephant.

And here is me in said workspace. I mostly work on the laptop, and the desk is usually behind me. I am joined here by part of the kitteh known as Lola. She is, in this very moment, sinking her claws quite deeply into the flesh of my thigh, hence the stilted expression.